


They Hung The Moon Far, Far Away

by anthroxagorus



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Escapist fantasy, F/F, Femslash, Hurt/Comfort, Motherhood, PTSD, Parent/Child Incest, Rape/Non-con Elements, age gap
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-01
Updated: 2019-12-01
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:08:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21625834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anthroxagorus/pseuds/anthroxagorus
Summary: Luna Lovegood takes baked goods to Azkaban, Luna meets Bellatrix, and thus forms a strange friendship in which Bellatrix sees something in Luna that reminds her painfully of herself, and Luna fantasizes about being taken away by a particular, beautiful witch. One-shot. Bellatrix/Luna.
Relationships: Bellatrix Black Lestrange/Luna Lovegood, Bellatrix Black Lestrange/Rodolphus Lestrange, Bellatrix Black Lestrange/Voldemort, Luna Lovegood/Xenophilius Lovegood
Comments: 5
Kudos: 41





	They Hung The Moon Far, Far Away

**Author's Note:**

> This story brought to you by how creepy Rhys Ifan/Xenophilis Lovegood's actor is (creepy but in a hot way), how disassociative Luna Lovegood is, and how mostly I wanted to write a f/f ship.

She could smell him before she felt him beside her. Alcohol had been on his breath, his clothes, the stench of alcohol and when he crawled beside her in the bed his stomach filled with that evil substance pressing against her small back , Luna experienced fear for the first time in her young life. she would always remember those two things, the smell of Alcohol and her fear “Luna...” he crooned, “Luna... Luna... Luna... Daddy can't sleep alone...” Trailing his hands up and down her side. “Luna...” She saw the moon pouring into her window, as it had done every night for years, but when he turned her to face him, and lifted her nightgown, she began to hate everything about her name. “Luna... Luna... you look so much like your mother... so much...Merlin help me...” He kissed her. She tasted alcohol, wet, neutrality of spit, and his kisses became rough, and bruising and nothing was making sense that not even the moon was comforting and her mother was gone and she was alone. For the first time ever she felt and understood the emotion and all of its implications through her father's desperate maneuverings.

The next morning, Luna scrubbed her skin raw, then prepared breakfast as her mother had once done. It seemed like her father wanted her to take on all her mother's responsibilities. While her father slept, she hid the alcohol, she hid the pictures of her mother, and then she hid herself in the corner with the stacks of magazines. It was in these she found she could forget. She could escape into the this world of fantasy and pretend that it had never happened. She read well into the afternoon until her father stumbled into her view and thanked her for the coffee in hand, and the breakfast on the table, at which she nodded and assured it had been no problem on her part. There were no apologies or acknoledgments of the night before, so she made believe that it never happened.

Her father went back to writing for  _The Quibbler_ soon after and their lives became a familiar pattern where Luna divided her day between her duties and the spare time she could read. Briefly, foolishly, she thought her father wouldn't visit her room again at night, but that too became something of a quiet duty she fulfilled. At this time, she had learned how to close her mind and enter somewhere inwardly that was very, very far away. She was so good at doing this that she ocassionally fell into that place in her mind when she was supposed to be aware. 

They called her absentminded. Thought it was a quirk.

Her father's job with  _The Quibbler_ required a great deal of travel. Before she was Hogwarts age, Luna had been to many European countries, in both the wizard and muggle spaces, and seen more varities of salamanders than most of her Professors ever would, more exotic flowers, and more magical creatures than anyone could imagine. Despite the wonderful things she'd seen and places she'd been, Luna's favorite place to go was Azkaban. It was the only place she requested they'd go.

She would fill a basket with warm, chocolately cookies, her father would bring his interviewing supplies, and they'd make an afternoon of it. Luna never told her father (of course) how she understood exactly what it meant to be captive; it was in the inmate's hollowed gazes she felt a strong empathy.

“Luna,” her father told her. “ the people in this place have done bad things, but they are not bad people. They need your cheery smile, your mother's cookies. They need hope they'll overcome this.” Luna remembered the tremble in his voice, in his touch.

She gave her father that ghostly, mysterious turn of lip she was known for and set off with her basket of treats. She greeted every face with a “Good afternoon! I brought you some cookies!” and would set a small, wrapped fabric just inside the cell. Most of the inmates would stare blandly at her, but a few still had their minds and would thank her. There was even a large black dog in one cell that would do a quick dance for her.

But her favorite inmate first greeted her by quickly grabbing her wrist, taking the small package from her open palm with her teeth and smirked as her father came toward them. She was one of few witches there, but she had beautiful long, black hair that Luna couldn't help staring at. He'd glared and said something, grabbing Luna's shoulder hard, but Luna liked the cool way the woman had laughed at him and then caught her gaze. This woman wasn't afraid of anything. Luna wished she could be her.

That was the first time she'd met Bellatrix Lestrange.

For several years afterwards, Luna visited those cells and gave away her homemade cookies. It was always Mondays – her best days – that the prisoners could expect kindness. For many, it didn't matter, for they were too far gone, but for the prisoners who smiled gratefully and spoke with her for a brief spell – she found energy to continue her weekly visits. Even when she entered Hogwarts, she found the time to write letters and bake cookies in the kitchens between classes and homework assignments.

It was a strange allowance her father kept up with that he would transport both cookies and letters to Azkaban, give the inmates the time to reply, and to send them back her way. She, in turn, spent many hours reading those letters - of their lives and loves, of their regrets and hopes. She cherished them, no matter how disoriented or vile some happen to be.

She did eventually learn what those witches and wizards did to be put in Azkaban. Some of those things were awful. But she'd also come to know about them as individuals - a great many of them were people that had made bad decisions and they'd been given up on. Some of them died in Azkaban, without a hope of getting back out. Some were released only to find them themselves right back in the prison. So they kept doing the bad thing.

Bellatrix had been one of the only constant (as well as coherent) writers. She mostly requested particular cookies or Hogwarts pastries or gave her patently bad advice. (“I'm bored to death of History of Magic” would be met with “So skip class and cheat on the test. Your teacher's a ghost.”) Once Luna had bravely written “I don't want to go home during hols.” It had been a particularly difficult day for her and she had decided she didn't care if her father read it and didn't care if it made him sad or angry. “Come bust me out,” Bellatrix answered. “We'll go somewhere fun.” Luna had kept that letter in her front robe pocket, close to her heart, wishing it could be that simple.

Her last letter to Luna came in her fifth year, not in the usual bundle from her father, but as a tiny shred of paper written in some dark substance.

_I'm finally free. Soon you will be too._

* * *

When Bellatrix Lestrange was young, long before she entered Hogwarts, she'd been taught by her mother how to care for her younger sisters, how to sit still for hours on end (when guests had come), and how to not cry. Her father, in turn, taught her how to pleasure her future husband, quietly and efficiently, by mouth, hand, and _there_. For the Ancient and Most Noble House of Black, she was expected to place all her energy into continuing their bloodline. As eldest, her children (rather, future sons) would be the true, future heirs of the Black line.

She bore this knowledge and training with an entirely different agenda. When her father and his friends talked about war and politics and the like, she listened intently. When they put on a show of dueling, she took notes of the wandwork, the way their bodies danced away from curses and fluid motions they made with their wands. Alone, she practiced those wand jabs, pivots, and feints.

They wanted a powerful heir; they would have one with her. Let her sisters foster children - for she hated _everything_ about conception, pregnancy, and birth - but she would bring honor to her family line.

She proved to be a powerful witch in Hogwarts - and more importantly one not be to _fucked_ with. She thrived on the hatred it earned from her male colleagues, who thought themselves so entitled above anyone with a _vagina_. In her third year, they thought they'd teach her a lesson by holding her down and proving their male power over her; she responded by removing their dicks - with a wandless spell no less! Funnily enough, she'd earned a reputation as a prude after that and alternatively a slut; neither were true.

She met the Dark Lord during a Hogsmeade weekend in her sixth year. He spoke at a bar a quarter mile from the school and, at some point, had looked directly in her eyes, as if knowing her worthiness, and had simply smirked at her.

The Dark Lord, see, could do things with his wand that men merely dreamed of. Just when Bellatrix had learned all she could from Hogwarts, Lord Voldemort had stepped into her life with _true_ power. Power her father could gap at; power that would be hers.

And the things he said! He put words to the strange desperation her family had, the desperation _pureblood families_ had to survive in the mess of mudbloods in the world! Before, she had hardly given them a thought - they, like her other colleagues - were infants playing in a sandbox compared to her, but he opened her eyes to the danger they brought to their way of life, the general downhill wizards had faced as soon as they started to _mix_ with the muggle populations.

He had _answers_.

And he, seeing her worthiness as an ally, wanted her at his side. He understood her.

It was something like love at first sight, if “love” was suitable in Bellatrix's lexicon.

There was a distinct feeling she felt the first time she'd tortured and killed. It was a woefully brief, but strong stirring emotion that came over her when her victim had realized they were going to die. She held life in her slender, powerful hands, and, god, that feeling just before she took their life, the final drumroll into the finalé.

It was _thrilling_.

And it was Lord Voldemort that had whispered the curse in her ear, guided her wand movements, and steadied her then-shaking hands.

That was the great, beautiful thing that bound them together.

Absolute power.

He was her God; she would follow him to the ends of the earth.

* * *

Never once had she doubted he would return to her, but the relief and joy when she was able to look upon him once more overwhelmed her. Lord Voldemort, alive, she bowed before him while those around her gaped uselessly. Her lord praised her; she marveled that she was hearing his voice again.

The months following his return were a blur of activity. This wasn't the return her lord had wanted, but he'd been hasty. It was only a setback, she reminded him, and provided a better opportunity. Because so many _doubted_ the strength of the Dark Lord, they would take advantage and spread out their influence - to take upon the Ministry, the Daily Prophet, and to build their army. They were preparing for change; they were preparing for war.

Yet, her lord fixated on the prophecy above all else, obsessed it would hold some key he was missing. The Potter boy had escaped him twice; he couldn't bare it. Snape had been no help when questioned, alternatively prostrating and swearing he had no memory on the exact wording, or of anything more than what he'd told them before some fifteen years ago. Bellatrix had wanted to set the man on fire for his uselessness. All brains, no balls, Snape had never impressed her as worthy of the Dark Lord's confidence.

“His eyes are all I need,” he placated her. “For now.”

So she stood down.

She had always stood down, as his judgment had proved sound to her.

And then she ran into _that girl_ in the middle of the Department of Mysteries, that girl who was brazenly sided with _that boy,_ in the height of her lord's plans blooming. Admittedly, she was caught off-guard, but she was a trained witch and she had an objective. Disarm the boy, retrieve the prophecy, and let the children see _exactly_ the power they were up against. So what if Bellatrix kept an eye on her, turned her wand toward other targets. _It didn't make her soft_. She knew her enemies.

* * *

“Who is this girl you keep thinking about?” her Lord asked soon after that battle. This was after their stalemate of a battle - it revealed her Lord far sooner than planned, but it had become much easier to gain membership. He knew the prophecy, was gaining allies, and was working through a few plans of his own. Potter was just one boy, one mere pawn in the game.

Bellatrix was accustomed to leaving her mind open to her Lord to walk through as he pleased; she had nothing to hide from Him, but she found an edge to her voice when she answered.

“I didn't expect to see her with the Potter boy.”

“You wrote her,” he laughed.

“I hoped to broker my own escape,” she said, but the lie weighed on her tongue.

“She brought you _sweets_.”

“I think she would be a good asset for us - for you.”

“Attachment to her... it's... foolish.” He let out another laugh. “Are you _interested_ in little girls?”

“She reminds me of myself,” Bellatrix answered. Voldemort studied her and she beckoned his mind to hers, to see the disgusting, possessive way her father touched her, the hollow look in her eyes when she met the girl, and then, she allowed her lord to see what her own father had done to her. Voldemort had known about that; they mutually, deeply hated their fathers, if for different reasons. She watched the laughter leave his eyes. _See?_ She thought. _See?_

“If you want a child, have one,” he said, and he sounded... _bewildered_ to her mind. He made the suggestion sound obvious; she was humiliated. How was she to respond to this impasse and what more could be said? Was he offering this course to her? She fought back a chill.

“Of course, my lord,” she'd said, and resolved to think of it no more.

* * *

It's not that she had forgotten the promise she had made to the girl. To Luna. When she'd written that final letter, she'd had every intention of taking her from her home, but Bellatrix had regained some of her senses after that letter, and quite frankly didn't know what she intended to do after retrieving her. _Raise_ her? Bellatrix's entire life was devoted to the cause. She didn't have a home anymore, opting instead to live close to her lord, and what would that be for her, to be there with her there? Some of her lord's followers were.... questionable.

She thought also of writing Luna, but what could she possibly say to her? Luna was already disillusioned with the “golden boy.” A letter wouldn't work.

In her mind, she'd imagined somewhere far away from politics and status expectations and _family_ , somewhere warmer than the English side, but still lush green and somewhere far from muggles and wizards and witches - the middle of a forest maybe. She imagined training the girl, and braiding wild flowers in her blonde hair. They would be the witches of fairytales, cursing any travellers that dare come near. No one could touch them.

It wasn't a realistic dream, but it had gotten her through Azkaban all the same.

So what should she do?

Then fate unexpectedly answered.

* * *

One moment, Luna was staring blankly at a Quibbler article (13 Reasons We Know Albus Dumbledore is Still Alive) and determinedly avoiding packing for Bulgaria. She was wearing her favorite muggle clothing - overalls - that covered over all of her. In the next moment, her father was thrown back into a wall and multiple hands were grabbing at her - her stomach lurched - and she was somewhere far away and new and staring down at a vibrant green Persian rug. Her impact was soft - and she could've appreciated it under other circumstances - but instead a buzz had started somewhere in the back of her mind, a low hum that began when she was unsure or somewhere she didn't want to be.

Voices murmured around her, someone jerked her chin upward and the dark grey eyes that met hers returned her to the present, a mutual surprise, soft, and then something closed off again. Now, she had Luna's attention.

“I want her in my personal chambers,” Bellatrix Lestrange announced. A Bellatrix that was no longer in the striped prison outfit, but a tightly bound dress, and who had regained all her strength. She looked to the men - oh other Death Eaters - that were still gripping her arms. When no one moved, the woman glared at them. “Will that be a _problem_?”

“What do you want her for?” said the one on Luna's right. “We might need her alive.”

“We only need her _father_ to believe she is alive,” Bellatrix corrected. “Besides, I only want to question her.”

“'Bout what?”

“A fellow classmate of the Potter boy, and you don't think she might know of his whereabouts?” she replied. “Escort her now. I have some business to attend to.” Evidently she was in charge of the others, as the matter seemed settled then.

“Do you think she's preparing a torture room?” the man at her right wondered outloud.

“Do you think it's the Dark Lord's nether-regions she's attending to?” the man at her left chipped in, with a yellowed-teeth grin.

“Does he even possess a nether-regions?”

She had a quick glance of the room before she hit the floor and felt her body seize up under _petrificus totalus._ She thought it was a rather nice ceiling, anyways. For Bellatrix's “personal chambers” it too seemed to have a nice enough ceiling.

* * *

The full body-bind was just beginning to relax (and Luna just about asleep) when someone joined her in the room.

“Well... here you are,” Bellatrix spoke. “Did they hurt you?”

“No.”

She waited until Luna was able to sit up. She was relieved to see they were alone.

Luna remembered the last letter she had received from the woman, with three words hastily scribbled on the back of her own parchment – _I'm finally free_. Luna gazed around the living space and wondered if _this_ was what freedom looked like. Marginally better than what Azakaban had to offer, sure, but at the expense of complete servitude?

“You never wrote me,” the woman said.

“You never came to see me,” Luna replied, and then: “I don't know where Harry is. It's no use torturing me, because no one knows. If I did know, I wouldn't tell you, but I don't so don't bother with it.”

“Expelliarmus,” Bellatrix muttered. Luna's wand flew from her back pocket and lighted on her hand. She deposited both on the side table and then sighed heavily. “Those clothes you are in are _filthy.”_

“Do the Death Eater robes come in child size?”

“Don't be a smart ass with me. I don't have the patience or the time. My Lord is about to have a meeting shortly. You'll find something suitable in the wardrobe.”

“What does Voldemort want from me?”

“ _Don't you dare speak his name_!” she hissed.

“Well, what does _he_ want?”Luna asked, teeth grinding.

“You fought with the Potter boy, and, oh, your father writes for the Quibbler, doesn't he?”

“He owns it.”

“And he supports the boy, as well. There was talk to cease the publication.”

Her father had been supporting Harry heavily, while the Daily Prophet had very clearly ignored any new developments. This made sense, but this also meant Bellatrix hadn't been the one to order her capture.

Luna again thought about that night in the Department of Mysteries and how she and Bellatrix had pointedly avoided turning their wands to one another, and then to Neville, who had become a friend to her (or well, he clearly hoped for something more that she couldn't give) and who didn't have parents because of the woman in front of her. This woman who was so far up Voldemort's ass, who couldn't see and didn't care about the people's lives she had destroyed.

And yet, she hadn't made any moves to torture her. She probably wouldn't. So what did that mean? Luna had imagined somehow, impossibly, that Bellatrix's last letter had been a sort of promise that she'd take her away, and they'd go somewhere far away from classes and people and this stupid war. She'd gotten out of Azkaban; she could do anything. And did Luna still want that? That was insane of her, it had to be. Because Bellatrix had been sentenced to Azkaban, and she didn't regret her crimes, so why would Luna ever want any of that? She'd killed Harry's godfather in front of them all.

They didn't have a lot of time.

Never one to act rationally, Luna took to her feet and embraced the other woman, crushed into the velvet of her dress, her black hair, and her warm chest. She burrowed herself against that promise of freedom, the smell of orchids. And awkwardly, Bellatrix's hand stroked her back, her. long, tangled hair. Luna couldn't guess how long they held each other.

“I have to go to him,” she said, and she sounded hollow to Luna.

She returned her wand to her, and then bound her loosely, more for show than anything less. She had then spell-locked her chambers. Bellatrix told her she'd be safe, but Luna didn't believe her. She believed Bellatrix believed it, but here? How could she be safe? She quelched the desire that flooded through her and closed her eyes again.

* * *

Many witches and wizards entered Hogwarts familiar with the everyday spells - they couldn't perform them, but they'd heard the cleaning spells, the household and garden work and a few jinxes, depending on the family. Later, older students would share the more taboo - semen vanishing, abortive methods, and those related to masturbation. Luna had heard a few of those spells whispered near her ear or her stomach; it made her shiver to hear her classmates repeat those words.

She thought also how Ginny Weasley had tried to include her in this kind of talk.

“I don't really need it,” Luna had tried telling her. She meant it to come off as a dismissive joke; Ginny had thought she was just being shy.

“You will eventually,” she had insisted, and then barreled on through.

Luna managed to listen to the whole thing, excuse herself, and then find a water-closet before the vomit came up and out.

Luna had also bare witness for all the talk about how weird (and then “fun”) kissing was, when the other girls in her dorm tried to convince her to try it out. “How can you know you won't like it?”they'd ask her, determined to make it happen, to _normalize_ her.

“Oh okay,” she had said blankly, purposely confused. “So which of you want to kiss me?”

They'd left her alone then. Mostly anyways, but it didn't mean they couldn't start that kind of talk again.

_Merlin_ , she'd thought, _if I ever have another conversation like that again, I'll kill myself._

So she isolated herself further.

Those were the type of things she found herself thinking about while laying in wait for her potential death. Because, until a few hours ago, she had found the idea of embracing someone so repulsive, it made her sick. And now she had voluntarily _hugged_ another person, and she'd liked it. She liked her.

Luna had suspected as much, but now she had physical evidence, the warmth at her core, the magic swimming through her, the faint smile on her lips.

So there it was: she had fallen for a dangerous, powerful witch on the wrong side of the war.

* * *

Bellatrix knelt by Voldemort and let her cloak sweep out in a majestic flourish, before approaching too closely. They were alone, which she preferred, and given the nature of the meeting, it meant the potential of doing something important for her lord. They then started on a bottle of firewhiskey and talked about the various missions in place - the Ministry legislations, the giants and dragons and so on.

After they exchanged greetings and inquired on the status of several missions, he took her hand in his. “I have been thinking,” he said, “about our future, the future of the Death Eaters.”

“We will flourish,” she reassured him, covering his hand with her own.

“Of course.” He squeezed her hand tighter. “And I have been thinking of what you have revealed me - about wanting a child. Do you understand?”

“No, my lord,” she said, and felt her tongue go dry.

“Were I to have a son to fight alongside me, to have my brilliance, and to have your devotion? It is but a mere assurance.” His red, slitted eyes checked hers and she saw a hunger she wished she hadn't seen. “I thank you for this idea.”

“Are you sure?” she asked, careful in questioning his judgment. “You have defeated death and your victory is assured. And a child - at this moment - it would only hinder my dueling. I long to fight at your side.”

“I will make our copulation quick, but far better than your husband's attempts.”

“Perhaps my sister? You know she is adept at breeding, and any attempts of my husband have not been fruitful.”

“And you have witnessed the weak whelp she has born?” he hissed. “Bellatrix, this is your duty for me and as a woman, now prepare yourself for me so that we can get this over with.” She swallowed bile, watched his hand pass over his front and then moved at a vigorous pace. For all the rumors about her, she had never bedded even her husband, and had never thought her lord would want this.

She had never disobeyed him before. She had only to see what he saw, the necessity this would be, the reasoning behind this vile act, but where was it now? How could this be? She dug her fingernails in her palms and faced away from him. She couldn't repress the shiver at his touch, couldn't not hear the labor of his breathing, the wet sounds he made with her. Her mind screamed and screamed; they fell on deaf ears.

“Sacrifices must be made,” Voldemort told her, when he had finished, when she was dismissed.

What more could be said?

She found her chambers, and sobbed in her bed, years and years of tears she had refused to shed came from her, all that while her legs and crotch were damp, her stomach churned. And Luna, the girl she had entirely forgotten about, lay by her side and stroked her hair. At some point, through the blur of her sight, she thought the girl cried along with her.

_I'm sorry, little moon_ , she thought but couldn't say, _He'll never let me go now_

* * *

The following morning, Bellatrix remained in her locked chambers with Luna at her side and announced she felt too ill to come out, and she had additionally resolved to never come back out. She didn't know whether the other Death Eaters knew what the Dark Lord had asked of her, but they obliged and made no remarks to the girl she kept in her rooms.

“He probably thinks I'm pregnant already,” Bellatrix had laughed, for even she knew how long it took to be sure of conception. It was better for all to think that once took the trick, for the act to not be repeated, and all damage down with, although in her heart, Bellatrix thought something new thrived in her magic and body and that thing frightened her.

The Malfoy's house elf attended to them both, with all the strange sandwiches Luna requested and drink that she wanted. She was only mildly surprised to learn Luna had met the acquaintance of the house elf previously, but she couldn't be bothered to guess why.

Between games or during a particularly long term, Luna would adjust the dial of small handheld radio the house elf had brought her, and listen intently to the static in between stations. This, too, Bellatrix shrugged off as another of the girl's peculiarities.

They entertained one another with games (wizard chess and cards) and spoke quietly.

In some part, Luna confirmed what Bellatrix had known, about her father. It was more than anyone had ever known about it.

“I thought if I kept him happy, it wouldn't happen again,” Luna had said.

“It never stops,” Bellatrix returned, hardly surprised to hear how hollow her voice had become. She didn't want to talk, and instead would prompt her companion. “Tell me about Hogwarts... tell me about the Quidditch games...” and Luna found she had a lot to say.

There were some things she'd already told Bellatrix, when she had been in Azkaban. In person, she realized there was much more to those stories she had, more about the people that were in her life.

She'd told Bellatrix about the celebrity of their school, Harry Potter, and now she told her more. That Harry came off as someone normal and popular, that had a lot of friends and had everything going for him. He passed his classes okay, but didn't seem to care. He loved his friends, and had a lot of trouble when they had fought. Luna was fascinated by him, and by his pointed efforts to include her. He seemed lost at times, and even lonely. She'd heard rumors that his aunt and uncle had locked him in a cupboard. From there, the rumors were widely speculative.

She also talked about Ginny Weasley and _her_ pointed efforts in including Luna with “normal” people and all that talk about Harry Potter she did.

She'd also talked about the Order, but in a more roundabout way to avoid Hermione's hex. That club, she'd told Bellatrix, had been a wonderful, social thing. She liked showing others what she was capable of, liked showing a side of her that didn't make people run, but she rather enjoyed being alone and thinking about the wonderful creatures around her. People were too much for her.

“Then tell me about the creatures,” Bellatrix prompted, and so Luna did, describing them in great detail, and then telling her which of them she had yet to see.

“Just because they haven't seen them, they think it's crazy I think they're real. Just because they're not in _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_! Just because they're not in _one book_! I've met so many. I've traveled to so many places.”

“I've never seen you so angry,” Bellatrix said, amused. _You haven't seen all that much of me_ , Luna thought, but didn't correct.

“I believe you,” the woman said next. “I came across something years ago, I could never find it in any of the books, but it was beautiful.”

Luna named it, instantly. “They are beautiful,” she said. “And rare.”

_Rarer now_ , Bellatrix thought, but didn't correct.

“Is it strange to think this is the happiest I have ever been?” Luna ventured while they ate cucumber and egg sandwiches and dealt out their cards. Was it a stretch to think, in the space they've created in the middle of all the misery, she felt the same? That this was exactly the world they had envisioned with one another. “I don't want to ever leave.”

“No, pet, I don't think I want to either,” Bellatrix said.

* * *

Of course, their happiness was disrupted. It was foolish to think otherwise. They were in the middle of their dinner and Bellatrix had begun to talk more, telling Luna about the secrets of Hogwarts she knew about when Rodolphus forced himself into their room. Luna recognized him as one of her captors, and knew just enough about him to be wary of him. Bellatrix rarely spoke of him, and when she did, she was clear that their “marriage” had been political, a move her Dark Lord had asked of her.

“So that's how it is?” he asked, advancing toward them.

Luna very slowly touched her wand and angled her body so that it would be missed.

Bellatrix managed to look bored. Her wand stood at her side-table and Luna was thinking of a way to take hold of it, if need be.

“How what is, my dear _husband_?”

“He gives you to me,” he growled. “And you spread your legs for him?”

Here, she looked stricken, but only a moment. She rose from the bed and stared him down. “We must obey the Dark Lord. Had he asked for you to spread your legs, you would do the same.”

“It is not the same,” he said, and Luna didn't like the madness in his eyes: crazed, drunk.

“Leave,” Bellatrix said, and Luna felt her anger, her strength. She gripped her wand.

He laughed at her.

“Whatever you're thinking, the Dark Lord will be furious should you interfere.” Bellatrix then covered her hand over her stomach.

“You were supposed to birth my heir!” he roared.

“What useless child would come from your loins?” she taunted.

The air was electric. Luna fought against her terror. How was Bellatrix acting so confident with her wand so far away? And what was she supposed to do? Her mind raced, she thought of all the spells she knew.

“I should have taken what was mine,” he said, laughing more. “Should your little friend join in?”

“Don't even think of going near her,” Bellatrix said. “I'll gouge your eyes out.”

“You threatening me, whore?”

“Bastard!”

“BITCH!”

“DON'T-”

“I'M-”

“EXPELLIARMUS!” Luna shouted, thrusting her wand in her hands, which she quickly jabbed into the man's throat. Luna took hold now of Bellatrix's wand and grabbed her hand. Whatever spell she'd murmured, blood splattered, coated her robe and the bulk of Bellatrix's front.

“We have to go!” Luna said, and then couldn't stop shouting. “We have to go, we have to go!”

“Give me your hand,” she said. Wands and hands clasped together, Luna's eyes shut tight, they apparated.

* * *

The next few days happened in a blur for Luna. Bellatrix had taken them to alley, cleaned the blood off them with a quick spell, and had then dropped by Gringotts to take out a large portion of her inheritance. Buried in her treasures was the Hufflepuff Cup her Lord had asked her to keep safe. Anger fumed from her, she elevated it to the top of the highest pile in plain sight.

They'd then hopped to the neighboring market for Luna to obtain new robes. And then to the next to find an inn to stay at.

“He will find us,” Bellatrix had said over their pitiful breakfast of slimy sausage and eggs. “We must keep moving.”

“He hasn't found Harry yet,” Luna replied, eating her biscuits. “He won't find us.”

But the woman wasn't assured. “We're talking about the most powerful wizard in the world.”

Luna rolled her eyes. “He won't look in a muggle town. Do you want to get ice cream later?”

Bellatrix only growled at her. “I want to vomit this poor excuse of a breakfast.”

“Which would leave room for the ice cream.”

Bellatrix looked at her, from underneath her wide-brim hat and through her dark sunglasses, unsure if she was proud of the sass Luna delivered, or just annoyed by it. Mostly, she was annoyed about everything. She was constantly nauseous and felt sure she was truly pregnant. She had no idea what they were doing, where they were going, and what she planned to do with the spawn when it arrived.

One thing she was sure of: she was never going back.

“I think ice cream will help,” Luna continued, smiling gently at her dark mood (as if that smile could solve anything!) “and then we can look for a nice cottage later.”

A grunt, by reply.

“And a mediwitch?”

Another grunt, though less aggressive.

Merlin help her, that smile did heal her.

* * *

A few weeks later, they had blended in a muggle port city, used the proper currency and wore more dresses than robes. It was far too cold, and not a good place to garden (as was the fantasy) but it was relatively isolated, it was safe, and it was theirs alone. The sea was nearby and reminded them the infinite size of the world and the chances of their ever being found.

Luna had managed to find the Potterwatch radio channel and religiously listened for deaths reported and any other news of home. She listened to the good and the bad with her lips pressed firmly together. She heard also of her own disappearance, when her father had gone to the ministry to plea for her rescue, and then later of her father's death, when the Death Eaters of the ministry didn't take too kindly to his request. There was a mixed feeling that she should've been the one to deliver that killing spell, and a feeling of pity that he wanted her back so badly. Somewhere in her, she mourned. Somewhere else felt the final ties to home were being trimmed away. A new freedom. In those casts, Bellatrix's disappearance was also reported, but where she had gone was deemed little importance. A small comfort.

They spent many days pulling every curtain closed, clearing furniture, and dueling one another. Bellatrix wanted to keep her training sharp, Luna wanted to learn. With protective wards in place, they fought as if their lives truly depended on the outcome. If the creature within her died, then it died. Spells ricocheted off every surface, sweat and smoke coated them. Bellatrix won most challenges, but was caught off-guard by spells she didn't think the girl would know, or otherwise, was tired out too easily.

At night, they lay side by side, close and uncomfortable. For Luna, there was the expectation of being violated in her sleep. When it didn't come, she found herself craving it. She slept so badly her first year of Hogwarts from that awful need and now, by sharing a bed, it had started within her again. For Bellatrix, she desired her and in all her kindness. She was the type of woman that gravitated towards anyone kind to her; she was also the type to want to destroy it. Her fingers crawled over her stomach, swelling by her newfound interest in food, or more likely the creature that grew, and her fingers longed to dip further.

Bellatrix desired women, and always had. Her only experience, really, was some desperate grasping with a stranger in a pub. They'd laughed about their husbands and had then slipped away to her rooms for a glorious night. The woman had a high, annoying laugh, and would've been unbearable in the long term, but Bellatrix had thought about that woman when alone, the softness of her breasts and curves of her waist, and would shudder into a climax.

Luna was beautiful, angelic even, but what would it mean to become something like her father? She could feel the heat of her when they were close, the question behind her teeth when they gazed at each other, and would force herself to look away, to draw back.

There were times they dueled and Bellatrix caught the other by the throat, or Luna would knock her on her back, rest a foot on her chest, and they would stay a little longer, touching. It made her feel pathetic.

“If you want to kiss me,” Bellatrix broke the silence one night, “then why do you hesitate?”

“The same reason you do,” Luna replied, and then she wet her lips.

“Then we shouldn't let it happen,” she said, but had, of course, stared at the tongue that had poked out, the now moist lips before her, and felt her resolve coming apart.

“You are so beautiful,” Luna said, and then cried, curling into herself and surprising them both.

“I'm not-” Bellatrix began

“You are,” she said around her tears, “but I shouldn't have said it.”

“We don't hide from each other,” Bellatrix said, and the confidence of that rang between them. “We hide from others, but not from each other. No secrets, do you understand?”

And so, they kissed.

And then kissed.

And cried, and then laughed for crying, and then kissed all over again.

* * *

“I'm no better than your father,” Bellatrix told her after their kissing session. “That's what worries me.”

“You'd stop if I wanted,” Luna reasoned outloud. “You want me for reasons besides sex.”

“Of course, you don't bore me, your presence is calming,” she soothed, running her hands freely through the other's hair. “And you don't think less of me for wanting you?”

“I don't, because it's me, and because I want this to happen.” She reflected a moment. “If it were someone else my own age you wanted, I don't know what I would think. I just feel jealous at the thought.”

They were at their best when they were honest, best when they were present.

They moved slowly, kissing one another, and then their hands traced one another, hair, shoulders, ear, and the more intimate nose, eyes, mouth. Bellatrix once sucked on Luna's pointer finger, and Luna felt that pleasure down to her groin. There was something wonderfully erotic to feel her finger sucked into that private cavity, the gentle presence of teeth, the hard ridges of the roof of her mouth, and the soft press of her tongue, urging more from her. So badly she wanted her mouth pressed in that way on her groin.

“I think I like sex,” Luna said, slowly. “I think I even liked some of it when it happened with him.”

“I have never enjoyed it until it was with that woman,” she admitted, and after having tell her about that revelation. She watched a flicker of fear on the other's face. “But I had far fewer experiences. And I was never treated with the love your father had, twisted as it may be.”

“However, I will never let anyone enter me again,” Bellatrix had said with a sudden fierceness. Implicitly, this included Luna. “I will die before it happens.”

In some ways, Luna liked taking the active role between them and exploring sex on her terms, at her own pace. It fascinated her to lick an ear, and receive a breathless groan, or to rub a breast, to feel the nipple harden under her touch (and to then pinch it for a sudden gasp). The reciprocation wasn't unwelcome, but a harder transition for her to navigate. Some touches reminded of her of _his_ hands and she'd have to back away or find Bellatrix's eyes and know it was her. They later found that a more rough touch suited them both.

One night, Bellatrix proposed a spell to alter her sex. With a few words, her clitoris extended and thickened into a more prominent, very phallic shape. This arrangement also suited the women quite well.

There were many times a day Bellatrix's arm would flare in pain, the dark mark scorching her skin. He called to her often; she resisted the attempts, as breathless and sick as it made her. In the Potterwatch broadcasts, The Dark Lord was reportedly traveling throughout the country. The closer in proximity he was to her, the more pain she felt. By its relative dullness, she felt safe, and then annoyed by the constant attempts.

“I've been reading up on birthing rituals,” Luna told Bellatrix after one night when her arm stopped burning and she'd started to uncurl on the couch. Luna flashed her a book she'd picked up on their last journey in a magic village. “And, well, children in general.”

“What about them?”

“Well, they usually have a name.”

“It is tradition,” she spoke to the ceiling, “to name a child a week after birth.”

“Muggles do it before conception,” she countered, sitting by her.

“And you want to stay when the child is here?” Bellatrix ventured.

“I want to stay forever,” Luna said solemnly.

They couldn't agree on a name that night (or the months that followed), but the game did solidify the future presence of the child, and that future started to feel a bit more hopeful.

* * *

A number of things happened after the child's birth.

The plan, tentatively meant moving again once the child was settled, but the birth was hard on Bellatrix and required the confidence of a mediwitch once the birth surpassed Luna's knowledge. There were sleepless nights when Luna held the baby close and tried to plan for the potential of becoming a sole mother, should Bellatrix not survive. Between silent tears, she rocked the child and found a love for the baby girl, a perfectly normal witch birthed with a healthy head of dark hair, a small nose (like Luna's) and who had no control over her parentage or fate.

“Name her,” Bellatrix had begged Luna when her illness surpassed a week. “Make her yours.” Her eyes, as they often did, kept checking the doorways around her, her magic tested the magic wards around them. She kept expecting her lord to come crashing into their home at any moment.

“Delphini,” Luna said, aloud, and felt a new bond form between her, the child, and the child's mother.

“Strangelove,” the other rasped, pitching a last name, a weak joke.

“Delphini Lestrange-Lovegood,” Luna'd said outloud. A mouthful. She held the child tight. Bellatrix smiled at them both.

The Potterwatch broadcast that night pronounced Voldemort dead. Harry Potter had survived. The war was over. They all sat together, first shocked, then elated. Bellatrix squeezed Luna's hand tight.

Her strength returned soon after.

* * *

And so, the two women lived in their little port city and raised the child together and loved each other very much. Though the muggles around them had hardly associated with them before the birth, they came now to compliment the women on the beautiful, if strange child. The baby created a connection from them to the city, as babies often seem to and friendships were formed. Their children nearby grew up together; the women made potions for their neighbors, waving them off as family recipes. Though some suspected the women as being witches, none came out with it. A witch was a good friend to have, why ruin it? They were a part of their city.

When Bellatrix returned to London some time later to retrieve funds, she left two letters with the post, one to her favorite sister, Narcissa Malfoy, and one Luna had written for a Ginerva Weasley. Both reported their safety and happiness, but refused to give up much detail as to their whereabouts. From there, they traveled, met fantastic creatures, but always returned to their little safe, port city. Their home. And can you believe it? They lived happily from that time and on.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I started writing this many years ago because I wanted to explore a f/f ship. What I had written was something much more violent that involved a lot of torture scenes. When I returned to this story, I found myself just wanting the women to be okay. I wrote much more than I planned to just to know what happened after Luna's kidnapping, and after that, and how might it reconcile with the “canon” child Bellatrix had to have. So, if this is your jam, expect some more spicy things to pop up in the future with these lovely ladies. If not, whoa, hey, thanks for giving it a shot! And please let me know what you thought, comments help so, SO much!


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